The Flying Nun 15 Years Later
by Davidclassictvfan
Summary: This is the story of the Flying Nun, while not a crossover, a special friend from another TV show will have a key role.


The convent San Tanco once held a special charm. Seated in the hills of Puerto Rico the breezes always kept it cool, and the gardens though a little weedy were always very beautiful. The ancient buildings had a special dignity even though they seemed to only stand by God's grace.

Even now as it lay nearly empty there was a special feeling about it. It was reassuring. Sister Bertrille took a deep breath inhaling the freshness of a Puerto Rican spring. For a moment she was the awkward and idealistic novice that entered this convent 15 years ago. For a moment she wondered what happened to that girl. The young novice who could fly in a windstorm, and had so many weird and thrilling adventures in her goal to make the convent better.

Sister Bertrille had never been vain, but as she turned to the door for a moment the reflection in the shattered glass reminded her that she was older, and had failed.

"No!" She said out loud, disturbing the birds that had nested on the failing roof. She had not failed. She would never accept that. And she knew that she wasn't kidding herself. All the children, the little orphans who had a home in the loving arms of the nuns. Sister Bertrille smiled as she thought of those precious kids. They were long gone now. But there was never a week that one of the children-adults now would stop by for a hug and a cup of tea. Most of them had gone on to simple jobs yet good lives in the outlying villages. And all of them left dropping a few coins in the box, it made them feel good and the nickels did keep the convent in tea bags, barely.

"Not a bad one in the bunch" Sister Bertrille thought with some pride, no sin of pride she chuckled. And every week dozens of letters from the kids who had grown up and moved on to the mainland or to Spain. Often they included checks, usually small, but then most of them had families or businesses still they remembered the convent and the Sisters.

Yes the Sisters, such happiness. The English language butchering Sister Sixto, transferred to a convent in Brazil 8 years ago where she was doubtlessly butchering Portuguese, and the darling little Sister Ana, who never quite fit despite her childlike faith. Ten years ago her high school sweet heart began writing her and in a few months she left the order, Sister Bertrille had a picture of Ana's beautiful daughter, named Elsie for her on her dresser.

It was just the three of them now, the aging Sister Jaqueline and the dear Reverend Mother. Almost a real mother to Sister Bertrille. It had been 2 years since the government and the Cardinal had closed the school and orphanage. Despite their best efforts the buildings were unsafe despite in the opinions of the "experts." So silly the nuns had thought, after all the buildings had held for all of those years and the convent orphanage was so needed in Puerto Rico.

But the world had changed, Sister Bertrille knew that. After all when she made her weekly trip to town the dirty looks and derogatory comments about the white American proved that to her.

The Reverend Mother could have easily gone to a nice home, the Church provided great senior living and of course her family had money. But nearly 80 she stubbornly held on, tending the gardens and donating the food, and counseling the locals, at least those who would still listen, and Sister Jaqueline had stayed with her. They really were sisters.

Young and still productive Sister Bertrille had been reassigned many times, yet she had always managed to charm the Bishop into letting her stay. The older women needed her.

But now even that simple peace of the 3 women was shattered. Last month when the letter came, the Reverend Mother had collapsed. Her heart had been weak for some time, but the final closure of the convent had pushed it beyond all limits.

Yes, next month the convent would be gone, the ancient buildings demolished and a new resort would be in its place within the next year.

The Reverend Mother refused to see the doctor, her peculiar wisdom and lifetime of service convinced the two nuns that this was for the best. Although unspoken they knew that the Reverend Mother would not live to see the end of her beloved convent.

Sister Bertrille came out of her sad daydreams remembering suddenly her duty, her priviledge. She entered the bedroom which was still cheery with its flowers despite the smell of sickness.

The Reverend Mother was asleep. The dark circles around her teary eyes told Sister Bertrille that it had not been a good night for Sister Jaqueline who stayed each night with her old friend and boss. They talked about old times, not just the convent, but of music, presidents and their choices. During the day Sister Bertrille sat with her, sometimes rolling her to the gardens which they had managed to keep up, at least somewhat, in the rusty 19th century wheelchair that the Alcalde had provided.

The look in Sister Jaqueline's eyes told Sister Bertrille that today might be the day. Yet the Reverend Mother slept soundly. She didn't hear the anguished moans that her old friend barely stifled. With a look, Sister Bertrille sent the older woman to bed. Ten years ago she would never have imagined that she could do that. Yes, the young girl was truly gone, and in her place was a strong woman who was an equal to anyone.

The day was becoming warm, as Sister Bertrille loosened the sheets and removed the blanket around her dying mentor she couldn't help but think of the days.

"Stop it," she told herself. She was a servant, of the Lord and her fellow man. She was only in her 40s and had much more to give.

Inevitably she thought of her next step, a thought that terrified her, but soon the Reverend Mother and the convent would be gone. She had not been able to discuss this with Sister Jaqueline who doubtlessly would retire, probably still making herself available to her fellow retirees in whatever Catholic home she went to. But Sister Bertrille had to decide where to spend the rest of her life. She was aware of the millions of opportunities and that she could be of good use.

She was a good teacher, and had a habit for scrounging. Perhaps she would be sent to another convent school, or with the nursing experience she had gained a hospital or convalescent home. She prayed for strength. But as she prayed she began to realize that these challenges did not appeal to her. "Why" she thought. If I'm not going to serve what can I do.

"Sister Bertrille" came a soft, weak but still firm voice. "Oh Reverend Mother" Sister Bertrille exclaimed, "You startled me. My you look wonderful today, much better, shall I make your breakfast." The old woman nodded no.

"Sister," the old woman said, "you cannot waste the next portion of your life." Sister Bertrille gave her a puzzled look. But the venerable woman continued:

"You have been a blessing, to countless children, to your fellow Sisters" she coughed some blood appeared on her lips, "and to me." She continued.

"But you have another desti—"she cut off coughing louder. Suddenly Sister Bertrille saw what was about to happen. She screamed for Sister Jaqueline who appeared in an instant, she was still so quick.

Sister Jaqueline looked at her old friend and tried to speak. But the Reverend Mother only squeezed her hand and continued to look at Sister Bertrille. "Find him" and her eyes slowly closed and the heart of the convent, the idol of Sister Bertrille's youth and the best friend of Jaqueline was gone.

Sister Bertrille would never remember the blur of the next few hours, the reports, the calls the arrangements, trying to comfort the heartbroken Sister Jaqueline.

Per her wishes the Reverend Mother was sent to her home town to be laid to rest in the Catholic cemetery with the priest, and other holy mentors of her youth. Adjoining that yard was another graveyard containing the Reverend Mother's family. No funeral was held.

Sister Bertrille arranged it all, but still managed to force Jaqueline to eat and take her medicines. And then it was over. Sister Jaqueline recovered in a few days and told Bertrille that she was going to a senior home-as the administrator. Sister Bertrille silently prayed that she could go to. Taking care of the old folks seemed to be so worthy, and she wouldn't be alone. But no. The home had all of the nuns it needed.

Sister Bertrille had no tears as she saw her other beloved mentor to the plane. She silently drove back to the convent, to oversee the men sent by the diocese, careless, bored men who had to be scolded constantly not to break or scratch the candlesticks or to tear the fragile old books from the library.

The textbooks were out of date, and were covered in mildew from spending the last few years in a leaky storage closet. They were consigned to the fire, Sister Bertrille felt her chest tighten as she watched the wet old books resist the fire longer than they should have, but finally go up in smoke.

At the end of the long day, a too happy man with too big a grin arrived, he took the keys to the buildings that his employers would soon destroy and with a salesman's friendliness offered to give the Sister a ride into town. Hotel accommodations had been arranged, tomorrow, an airline ticket waited, sent by the diocese to take her home to California for a month's stay with her birth sister.

Sister Bertrille wanted nothing more to get away from this sharp yuppie businessman that stood for everything that she hated, but, her morning plan of walking to town now seemed silly. She was bone tired and would rather endure a 15 minute car ride with this shyster to get to a soft bed faster.

It was obvious that the businessman didn't expect her to take him up on his offer, but he wore a fake smile as he opened the door of his rented car and started the car.

Knowing it was polite and correct, Sister Bertrille listened with well feigned interest as he talked about his Protestant upbringing, his college years and falling out with organized religion. He kept the insincere smile the whole time. Sister Bertrille was proud of herself, he honestly believed she was interested. Sadly for her a minor automobile accident ahead had slowed traffic so she was his captive for an interminable time.

"One thing about yuppie businessmen" she thought they have no clue when you think that they are square. "Or is that the phrase now?" She was out of touch she thought with unaccustomed bitterness. His droning continued until he said the word "casino."

Sister Bertrille involuntarily reacted with ingrained interest.

Not noticing the big mouth continued.

"You see, we are going to build a casino on the property."

"What?" Asked the nun with great surprise. The diocese had told her that a hotel would be built.

"A casino!" he said with another annoying guffaw.

"But, but—your company said it would be a hotel" she thought as the revulsion of a gambling den on the hallowed site overcame her.

"Well," he said, "it is going to have rooms, so technically it is a hotel."

"But that isn't what you told us!" She said with angry tears forming.

"Well, we didn't really lie." He said in his most condescending voice. "Besides, it's a done deal."

Sister Bertrille's righteous indignation ended with the disgusting realization that it was true. The deal was signed and the convent was now the property of this greedy corporation.

Not really noticing, he continued, "We are lucky to get in here, first. I understand that there was a casino in this berg years ago."

"Eight years ago" the Sister said sharply.

"Yeah, it made a lot of money we found out."

Sister Bertrille nodded. An involuntary courtesy.

She ignored him the rest of the trip as her mind settled on Carlos Ramirez. Her foil, the benefactor of the convent, and the one who more than anyone else shared her adventures for what she knew were the best years of her life. He was her best friend, her reason for smiling.

Funny she hadn't thought of him for a while, well except for those dreams, those disturbing dreams that she forced herself to suppress, never daring to let herself think about while awake.

Carlos, who's generosity kept the convent afloat during the leanest times. A man who willingly or unwillingly always had time to treat the orphans to a day on his yacht, donate money for any purpose no matter how silly he thought that it was. Sister Bertrille thought also of his indignation as she ruined his dates, or semi legal business schemes, usually just by showing up at the wrong time. She could see as if it were yesterday the anger as he fixed plumbing or a patch in the drywall, complaining he didn't have time, when they both knew he could have easily sent his casino's maintenance men to do it.

Carlos, her friend. Yes her friend.

Sister Bertrille didn't sleep that night, still smarting from the knowledge of a gambling den being built on the property, and of the annoying conversation. She asked to be let out of his car about a mile from the hotel, saying it was too far out of his way. A gentleman would have insisted on taking her the whole way, but she knew he wouldn't.

The walk to the hotel was a haze. She didn't remember it as she checked into the hotel and signed the voucher provided by the Bishop's office.

The hotel had a reputation for fine cuisine, but she had left a half-eaten sandwich, on the nightstand as she lay in bed.

Sister Bertrille didn't try to force herself to sleep, in fact she didn't think much at all, just seeing those adventures with Carlos. No the convent she told herself once or twice but it was a lie. She thought of Carlos, the gambler, the womanizer, the heart of gold, those beautiful black eyes. By morning it was those eyes that she was thinking of.

Her plane didn't leave until 7:00 pm. The hotel usually a sticker for early checkouts with their single night guests offered her the chance to stay in her room until then at no charge, and offered her a complimentary lunch. But Sister Bertrille took her small valise and walked.

Yes the town was different. Puerto Ricans had a lot of resentment for the "Anglos." She had half expected to be harassed on the walk she knew that she wanted to take. But outside of a few dirty looks she was left alone to her thoughts.

She supposed that that she should consider the resentment that the Hispanic population had developed for WASPish Americans and how that it had translated even to the church. But she just thought of the casino.

When she reached it, tears filled her eyes. More tears than she had shed even as she said goodbye to the Reverend Mother.

"This is silly" she told herself. You have seen this a million times. Still it was different. The burned out remains of what was once the Casino Ramirez. Destroyed 8 years ago in a fire. For the first time she remembered the tears of her old friend who had been yachting when the fire broke out. Sister Bertrille could still fly then, she hadn't acquired her middle aged spread then and she flew out to sea to find him. Oh how angry he was that she had interrupted yet another of his romantic conquests and then she saw for the first time fear in his eyes as he turned the boat around firing the emergency engines.

She went in his car to the casino still burning after 9 hours. She could still feel how vulnerable he was as he cried in her arms when his dream was gone. The dream that he had built with hard work, charm and a lot of brains.

She would never forget how brave he was, trying to go into the inferno himself to look for survivors it had taken her and 4 firemen to hold him back.

He witnessed the tears of the families of those who were lost. Out of his own pocket he paid for the Memorial Service for those who were lost.

The Reverend Mother had given Sister Bertrille all the time she needed to help this fine man, but it was no use.

After the funerals came the lawsuits, and the insurance company dug in their heels claiming to this day that the fire was due to faulty wiring, when Bertrille knew Carlos cared for the casino as if it were his child.

But in the end she was the only one, the newspapers and the radios made him a pariah. Only Sister Bertrille and the Reverend Mother still believed in him. But those insults, how they destroyed him. In a few weeks those accusations (which she suspected were provided to the press by the insurance company) had taken their toll.

Sr. Ramirez was brought down, bankrupted. And still for a time all he could do was apologize to Bertrille and to the nuns (some of whom thought he WAS guilty) that he could no longer help himself let alone them.

Bertrille went to the room that he had borrowed on his last night in the town. She tried to give him one of her pep talks, but failed. Real world problems can't be solved by the platitudes of a well-meaning nun.

Carlos cried in her arms again, he called himself a failure.

Now years later Bertrille remembered holding him. She remembered his muscular yet broken body. "NO!" She said out loud, startling a few winos who were sleeping in the remains of the once great casino.

Sister Bertrille left the charred remains and walked the three miles to the airport. She sipped cheap vending machine coffee for hours until her plane arrived. Remembering her manner she made small talk those around her, forcing a smile, but grateful for the chance to leave her thoughts until the plane arrived.

The flight was too long and nearly over before Sister Bertrille was handed a magazine by the disinterested flight attendant. She tried to say no but the attendant was already ignoring the protests of other passengers who didn't get to choose their magazine but had one dumped in their laps.

Sister Bertrille couldn't find a place to safely stow the magazine that she didn't want to read but her sense of duty prevented her from damaging.

"Oh well," it looks like there are some interesting pictures in it she thought with disdain. Out of a desire to escape her mental isolation she began to flip through it.

If she could have managed a thought she would have been disappointed, it was nothing more than a poorly produced travel magazine despite the deceptive cover promising great studies in geography.

Sister Bertrille flipped through it for no other reason than to busy her hands which were still shaking, the tremors had been going on since she left the casino wreckage

She barely registered what she was reading, a dozen or so articles about beautiful places to visit and of course glowing recommendations of the hotels and resorts all within a short distance. She let out a grrr as she thought of how the magazine probably owned shares in those overpriced hostels or had just accepted a little bribe. She knew this instinctively and for a moment considered that this bespoke of a little jade in her outlook.

She put that thought aside as she flipped to the end. Of course the last pages were filled with ads, for places to small or unsuccessful to be covered by more than a poorly printed black and white advertisement. She turned to the last page and gasped.

It was a black and white ad, better than the rest of the direct ads yet not nearly as nice as the fawning articles.

It was for a new mountain inn a new attraction to the Blue Ridge Mountains. But the picture! A smiling picture of the management team waiting to welcome you. It was Carlos!

Sister Bertrille's heart was racing, she thought of her old friend, her handsome old friend. As the plane landed she noticed her goose-bumps.

Waiting at the gate was her sister, grey now, but still with discerning blue eyes. Her sister the brilliant doctor who had spent her youth doctoring to the poor, but now was a medical corporation. Her sister had dressed modestly in an organdie dress but her watch, and rings betrayed her wealth.

The two women hugged deeply but mechanically. Each remembering the things that Sister Bertrille had said to her years ago about selling out.

"Where are the children?" Bertrille asked guessing that by now they were in some snooty prep school back East. Her sister's casual answer confirmed it.

Dr. Breckenridge-Johnson as her sister was now known had inherited their parent's house and Sister Bertrille was looking forward to her old room. She was disappointed but unsurprised when her sister half-heartedly apologizing for not writing that the brother in law, the day trader she had never met had sold it for a tidy price.

Sister Bertrille rode silently as her sister guided her new jaguar through the dirty streets of LA. Her sister had gushed about the beautiful room Bertrille would have and how sorry she was that they would only have a month together. Eventually though the charade was so obvious that her gregarious sister concentrated on the road.

That night, Bertrille had an excruciating dinner party in her honor as the wealthy doctors and bankers that were in her sister's circle congratulated her on her sacrifice and made thoughtless comments on the life of a nun.

Her brother in law, an opinionated agnostic was worse than Bertrille ever imagined.

Yet one thought nagged in her mind as she finally managed to escape the dinner and go to bed. The doctor who had years ago accepted her baby sister's vocation began introducing her as Elsie especially as the evening dragged on and the sister that she once idolized became drunker.

Sister Bertrille was surprised that she wasn't offended. Why? She asked herself, she knew she was Sister Bertrille and not Elsie Breckenridge anymore. But she didn't mind.

Bertrille slept for a few hours and then awoke, she explored her sister's palatial home and grew less repulsed by the decadence as she went. For a moment she considered that she might have had something just as grand if she had stayed Elsie Breckenridge and lived a- Her mind would not let her finish that sentence.

Bertrille found her sister's study, which was surprisingly cozy and she found on a neglected dusty shelf the family photo albums.

She looked through them remembering her childhood, her early dreams of medical school, and the pictures of herself, a young 60s beach bunny.

She found herself humming Jan and Dean as she considered that she was a stunning young thing in her bikini.

She looked at the old pictures for a while and returned to her room. She took off her modest wool robe and her old lady hair net and looked at herself, for the first time in years.

She was older now, thicker, and there was grey in that once lush raven hair. A little dye would fix that she thought to herself as she realized that while she wasn't 18 anymore she could still pull off wearing a bikini.

She barely had time to scold herself for that when she saw her brother in law's reflection in the mirror. It was obvious he was enjoying what he saw. He came near her and put his hands on her shoulders. He was drunk and muttering about how the great doctor that he had married was a cold lump.

Bertrille's cold stare eventually sobered him enough to make a crude and hasty apology and he left.

She locked the door knowing he probably had a key and went back to sleep. Horrified at what happened. She dreamed and she dreamed hard, her brother in law touching her again but as she fought and fought, he began to change and then he was Carlos. She stopped fighting.

She awoke sweating and happy and didn't consider berating herself.

She was glad that her sister and monster in law, brother in law she corrected herself had left for work early.

She went to breakfast where the maid, an older round Mexican who reminded her of Sister Sixto fixed her breakfast. Bertrille was ravenous feeling very happy. She surprised and delighted the maid by chatting happily to her in Spanish.

She helped the maid with the dishes astounding the illegal even further and then went out for some air after getting the maid to promise to serve her lunch in the kitchen so that they could eat together and left the bemused woman to her work.

Bertrille went to the spacious garage and to her surprise found her old bicycle, her sister hadn't thrown it away.

She vaguely remembered a conversation years early where her big sister had after failing to convince the headstrong girl that Bertrille was to not join the convent promised to keep Elsie's things.

That was a mostly broken promise Bertrille thought as she remembered her sister telling her that everything in their parent's house had been donated to Catholic charities. Something that her sister seemed to think would redeem her in Bertrille's eyes.

But the bike was still there! Elsie Breckenridge was a dyed in the wool beach bunny but much to her everlasting beach bum disgust the bike had meant more to her than even her beautiful surf board.

Bertrille hopped on the bike and rode out of her sister's luxurious neighborhood feeling that she was Elsie Breckenridge with her whole future ahead of her.

She rode for over an hour when she realized that she was in a beautiful older neighborhood, it was familiar.

She looked at the houses and suddenly she remembered where she was, she turned a corner to a house that she had always loved and to her delight her favorite professor Russell Lawrence was tending to a rose bush.

"Professor!" she cried jumping of the bike to hug him. His hair was snowy and he was a bit stooped but he still had the bearing of the most gorgeous professor on campus. To her amazement he recognized her immediately.

"Elsie!" He said with the same twinkle she well remembered. Suddenly Bertrille became aware that she was not in her habit but sweats borrowed from her sister.

"It's so good to see you Dr. Lawrence" she said with the first sincerity that she had felt in days.

"How are you?"

"Well" he smiled, this rose bush is healthy and for us old retirees that is good."

"Dr. Lawrence" she said with surprised YOU retired?"

"Well," he said with his usual good nature, mandatory retirement opens the doors for newer teachers.

"That's ridiculous" Bertrille said emphatically. "You were the best there ever was."

"That's nice to hear." He said still beaming at her, but my one regret was never bringing you over to the dark side that is literature and the arts."

"I lost track of you-I wish you had kept in touch, but I guess you are a busy doctor now."

Bertrille hesitated, she decided not to share her life's work just yet, and she didn't want to get into a deep discussion that she knew this wise man would begin just to show his pride in her.

"How are your children Dr. Lawrence?" she asked really interested. "Did you manage to strangle your son in law yet? What was his name? John?"

"That was his name," said the old man, with a trace of bitterness than shocked Bertrille. He left some time ago.

"Oh, I'm sorry-"Bertrille began, but he interrupted her with a renewed smile. "No," he laughed, you are right, I would have killed him, but I think that it would have been justifiable homicide."

They enjoyed a happy laugh and made their way to the kitchen, where over coffee, he told her about his daughter Ann, once always so dependent, but she never spoke of John leaving, but instead refused the help of her father and sister and raised her daughters while attending real estate school. She is now a very successful broker." Dr. Lawrence said with real pride.

"What about your other daughter? Frances?" asked Bertrille.

"Gidget?" he said, "oh I guess that I'm the only one that still calls her that. She lives in the city, always coming over to put homemade frozen dinners in the freezer and making sure that I come to dinner every Sunday. She married her boyfriend Jeff, he's a doctor in Beverly Hills now."

"Oh" said Bertrille, he must know my sister and brother and law."

Dr. Lawrence hesitated, evidently trying to be tactful, "Well they know them." He said.

Bertrille changed the subject. She imagined that if Frances had turned out anything like her father, pretentious unhappy people like her sister and brother in law never darkened her doorstep.

"So tell me about you!" Dr. Lawrence said, my favorite student is sitting in my kitchen after over 15 years and I'm talking about my boring life."

Sister Bertrille hadn't planned to talk about herself, especially with her old mentor, but his gentle calmness, understanding brought about by 2 daughters and a granddaughter overcame her.

At first she talked about being a nun, he wasn't surprised and just listened. She told him about her adventures, naturally leaving out the flights. And she told him about the last days of the convent.

"Tell me more about this Carlos" Dr. Lawrence asked. "He seems to have made an impression on you."

Later Bertrille would realize that this sage knew instinctively from her pressurative speech that Carlos was something that was affecting her.

But she didn't think about it then as her eyes filled with tears and she cried in the old man's arms for hours.

He listened as she said things about this man that she had felt but forced herself not to, she talked about how he made her day worthwhile, how she often deliberately interrupted his dates.

Finally she could talk no more. Dr. Lawrence still with that reassuring smile, insisted on driving her back to her sister's. He was calm as he helped her into his car, loaded her bike in the back and drove her into Beverly Hills. When they reached the driveway she finally spoke asking him if he'd like to come in, but he had to get going to his daughters. Bertrille wished that he were her father.

She kissed his cheek, hugging him deeply and started to the door when he called her back. He was holding a piece of paper in his hand.

"Elsie" he said, "nuns don't have much money so I want you to take this."

It was a check, he silenced her protests.

"Just promise that you will use the check for the most important cause in your life."

He smiled again and drove away.

She looked at the check, it was large and generous. And, she knew enough for a plane ticket to the Blue Ridge Mountains.


End file.
